Waltz for Moths
by Necrononymous
Summary: Chris is sent to uncover an old threat at the abandoned Tricell facility after Uroboros is dealt with. He finds more than he bargains for, and discovers his role in a grander scheme he wanted no part of, the beginnings of which are rooted years back.


**(Contest Entry for Lemon-Sprinkles' 'Monster' challenge.)  
**

**Summary: Chris is sent to uncover an old threat at the abandoned Tricell facility after Uroboros is dealt with. He finds more than he bargains for, and discovers his role in a grander scheme he wanted no part of, the beginnings of which are rooted years back in his past.**

**Side Note: This one-shot is not canon to Relative Grays, though does explore what might have happened before the events of.  
**

**Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the intellectual property of respective characters, names, places owned by Capcom. I make no profit off of this work.  
**

**Waltz for Moths**

Back at headquarters, as had happened routinely throughout the week, a woman dressed sharply in a brown pin-stripped pencil skirt, blouse, and white lab coat stepped into the elevator to ride it to the bottom-most floor. Tucked under her arm was a thick dossier. It contained the records of a man dating from spring 1998 until the present: employment, medical history, and most notably, recent psychiatric treatment. Though really, it was more of an investigation. She'd known when she'd first met the patient that they had no intention of treatment. It was intelligence, always had been.

And whatever secrets the man held, she wasn't sure he was willing to share.

A soft _ping_ preceded the elevator doors sliding back, and she stepped out, replacing her previously troubled face with a professional detachment. She was always very cautious in her work; always made sure to remain objective, even when tuning her voice to carry an air of concern and sympathy. But this time, it was considerably more difficult to hide her true feelings. Something about the entire case haunted her. A part of her wished the man would pass away in his sleep, so the entire thing could end and the case could be closed—the pity and fear that constantly rattled her nerves was exhausting, but then those thoughts only served to make her feel guilty and as merciless as the company awaiting her presence. Perhaps death was the only likely mercy, in this circumstance.

The long, nondescript hall lead her to a set of reinforced double doors, their alloy exterior shining dully in the fluorescents above. A swipe of the card around her neck and a key code admitted her into the room which was dimly lit.

"Doctor Owens, please." One of the two military officials had gestured for her to have a seat. The other watched her with a hard face, and she knew him to be the BSAA Captain who had been assigned to lead the recent mission into the core labs of the defunct Tricell facility after the incident in Africa. He was hard-pressed to speak until asked a question. She could have attributed his silence to his discipline, but she knew better. After all, they'd both succumbed to the same shock and horror, confusion, over the recent affairs concerning a particular BSAA soldier. It wasn't something any of them could have foreseen.

"How is he," she asked in a terse voice as she opened her folder and flipped to her notes from their last session.

A man dressed similarly in a white coat turned from the large glass panel overlooking the adjoined room and let out a sigh. "Vitals are the same. He still is exhibiting an increased heart rate and refuses to respond to any stimulus. Oh, and…we've increased his dosage of sedative."

Owens raised her head from her notes, surprised. "You changed his solution again? Is he still conscious?"

"Of course. He was simply metabolizing too fast. He's plenty awake, don't you worry."

_He should be dead on a drip that strong,_ Owens thought in awe, looking through the glass before her at the man inside the room where an IV catheter was inserted in one of his hands. He was seated in a steel chair that was bolted to the floor, ankles, waist, wrists, biceps, and head all secured by interlocking metal cusps that looked like they could hold an elephant. His eyes, as she expected, were closed, and he seemed to be deep in sleep. From his perspective, the glass was mirrored, hiding all their on-looking faces from sight.

"Well, doctor." The general that had greeted her upon entering stepped out from the shadows and into the light, arms crossed behind his back patiently. "If you have no more questions, please begin when you are ready."

Owens nodded and wet her lips, pulling her chair up to the desk before her and leaned towards the microphone positioned there that would feed her voice into the adjoined room. Her dossier was splayed out adjacent. There was a small click as the receiver was turned on.

A knot tied itself in her stomach as she drew in a breath to speak, wishing more and more that she had not known the man before the entire ordeal.

Her voice was soft and questioning, an old friend calling up to the second-story bedroom window of their companion, wanting them to come out and play. He voice told lies of hope and safety, and she wondered if the man could hear the occasional quiver, if it quivered at all.

"Chris. Chris, can you hear me? It's Jackie. You remember me."

There was just the slightest lift of the man's head.

"Can we talk again, Chris?"

_It was strange being in the labyrinth halls and rooms of the abandoned Tricell facility now. He had no desire to return, but knowing it would be his last visit—a quick clean-up mission—he'd accepted; though in retrospect, it wasn't like he had a choice. _

_Either way, the place was unusually more ominous after the fact._

_Compared to the chaos he and his partner had endured before, now it was still and silent. Parts had burned down, leaving only a skeleton of what had been. Some of the lower levels were flooded out. The rooms they could reach on foot were tapestries of struggle: upturned chairs, toppled file cabinets with their contents bled; broken monitors, gnarled and exposed piping, busted lights, bullet holes. Chris could remember the moment much of it had occurred, and the old events rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. Each room seemed to sharpen another memory he'd preferred to bury._

_Power had been completely cut from the place, and the backup generators were down, so they made their way mostly via flashlight. Before them, two fire teams had been sent in to clear out any hostiles only to find the place quiet. Now, one team (and the last, Chris thought) were to make their way down to the Core Labs where the primary research was recorded._

_Chris was pleased when he learned that Josh Stone, a friend and agent from BSAA's African branch, had been assigned to the mission as well, having had first hand experience not only in the Tricell catastrophe, but working alongside Chris in general. It somehow felt right to wrap up the entire ordeal alongside someone who had been in it from the beginning. Jill had been indisposed by recovery and numerous tests to find out just what had happened to her after the mansion. Chris was glad that, so far, no permanent side-effects had been discovered._

_It should have been a happy ending. Lives were lost, but he still had some of his closest friends, which was more than he could say for some, and he did his job. Probably helped save the entire damn world, but with all the years of tension that had fled from him the moment he saw his adversary defeated at last, something else left him as well. _

_He hadn't felt it at first, relieved as he was to be putting the entire thing behind him, but he did now. It was a keen emptiness, weariness. He still went to work, took his orders, and followed them to a T, but he felt like he'd lost his conviction. Living day-to-day had become mechanical, and it had only dawned on him when a visit from his sister Claire had not been met with laughter and merriment, but awkward detachment. He realized he didn't know her anymore. She was practically a stranger. Maybe not to his mind, but his heart. The only thing he could remember feeling then was a deep ache in response to her expression that told him she'd realized the same thing. He wasn't the brother he'd been before, and maybe she wasn't the sister he'd known before either. And nothing would ever change that. Nothing could._

_A clap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. "Hey, don't be day dreamin' now. Look, the lower hall is flooded." Josh motioned towards the top of the incline where the water started, the floor disappearing under the dark liquid which the strong beam of their flashlights did little to penetrate.  
_

_Chris sighed, knowing that it had been a possibility but having hoped otherwise. He wasn't comfortable in water, at least not in a place like this, and his training had been minimum. "Well, it's the only way with the elevator out of order and headquarters pushing for a finish. Whoever commissioned this place wanted limited access to this part of the facility, that much is obvious."_

_"Which means it's probably right where we want to be," Josh added with enthusiasm._

_"You got that right. If they were hiding anything, we're about to find out. Help me suit up."_

_Josh moved behind Chris to begin loosing some of the gear. Once the mask, rebreather, and fins were in place and working, Josh stepped back and laughed. "A real frogman if I ever saw one."_

_Josh heard Chris laugh dryly, filtered by the mask but coming through clear enough on the communicator._

_"Never thought I'd be using this training, to be honest," he admitted as he checked his knife and water pistol, along with the C-4. All of his land gear was left behind in a neat pile in Josh's care. "Alright, I'll keep you updated. It shouldn't take long."_

_Josh looked up from the blueprints he was double-checking as Chris started wading down into the girth of the flooded hall, then disappeared altogether. Chris shivered, feeling the chill of the water even through his dry suit. With the water around him, silence reigned supreme, and he was glad to hear his friend's voice crackle through the communicator._

_"How's the water?"_

_"Cold," Chris breathed back. "I see the first turn." He lifted his light, waving a suspended ink pen from out in front of him, along with a few papers that tore with the friction of water. The familiar debris seemed strange in the flooded environment._

_He passed several rooms that he surmised were offices, some of the doors agape, their interiors dark and foreboding. Chris half expected some creature to come slithering out of them as he passed, but nothing ever did. He'd been assured the place was devoid of life, and so far, it seemed too true. A few more minutes of swimming brought him to a stairwell that was flooded up to the first landing._

_"I'm at the stairwell. Going up." Chris started his climb up the stairs, stumbling on the first few above the line of water when his flippers slipped. "Damn it, these—"_

_After a short pause of silence, Josh's voice crackled to life again. "Problems?"_

_"Nothing serious; I just can't wait to get out of this suit." Chris promptly turned off the oxygen and detached his mask, leaving it at the top of the landing with his fins, trusting the thick bottoms of his dry suit enough to abandon them._

_He was close now. While the members of their team sought out the Core Labs, he and Josh had found their way to the main office. It was something they'd only discovered the location of after everything had gone to shit, the existence itself left off of general maps. Chris was thankful it had been above the flood level, in case any exposed information might be compromised. It seemed to almost be going too well. His suspicions were further helped along by the fact that when he reached the office, he discovered the security door conveniently open, the inner edge malformed and compressed so that the door wouldn't latch again. A door that should have been shut, awaiting nothing short of a few pounds of C4 to open._

"_Looks like we won't be needing that C4. The latch is damaged. Looks almost like it's been pried back."_

_"Pried back? By what? Besides flooding, this floor is relatively intact," he heard close to his ear, his own thoughts mimicked aloud._

_Chris walked into the sprawling office, little belying the person to whom it belonged. Chris thought they might have made a miscalculation at first, but then he saw something that made his chest tighten and his past rise up suddenly inside of him._

_On the desk centered on the far side of the room, there was a handgun. He knew the custom job immediately, and stepped cautiously over to the desk, unbelieving. Sure enough, as he lifted his flashlight for a closer examination, there sat the Samurai Edge, his Captain's—ex-Captain's—cherished custom pistol. He'd recognize it anywhere; Wesker had, to Chris' astonishment, allowed him to test-drive the pistol in the range one evening._

_Josh must have heard Chris' hitched breath, because he spoke then. "Everything okay?"_

_"Y-yeah, I'm inside. Having a look around."_

_Chris found himself sitting in the chair behind the desk, rubbing his forehead before picking up the pistol gently in his hands and turning it over. The smooth steel was familiar and cool under his fingers. The weight…he released the clip, not surprised to find it full. It was like him to keep his weapons ready. The bastard._

_Chris pushed the temptation to ruminate aside and began to dig through the desk's contents, unearthing an assortment of files and folders from its deep drawers. He could find nothing that illuminated further the research of Tricell. Mostly business: dates, times, people. Several of which he recognized and knew they'd already been investigating. Chris wasn't even sure why Headquarters was so damn insistent they sweep the place again for intelligence. It was over, done. With a long-suffering sigh, Chris heaved the heavy folder atop the desk, closed the drawer, and moved on to the next, expecting similar finds._

_But it wasn't anything he could have prepared himself for. _

_The drawer was empty, except an envelope which he curiously lifted and turned over to read "New Years, 1997." He both recognized the handwriting and the date, remembering it to be the year before the Arklay Mansion incident that had started everything. Anxious now, he dumped out the contents, expecting to find some detailed plan, an old letter giving Chris a reason, the "why" of Wesker's actions. What would be for him, a peace of mind. But the only things that fell out of the old, yellowed paper were a few pictures._

_He stopped breathing entirely and dropped the envelope as if it had burned him, hands shaking._

_The first picture he recognized was one of a series he'd taken at the S.T.A.R.S. New Year's party, having intended to commemorate the event by forcing all the Alpha and Bravo members into a photo. Unsurprisingly, his Captain had been the most defiant, hiding away in his office and complaining when Chris tracked him down and trudged in with a camera. The picture he was looking at now was his first attempt, which was a fine shot if he'd intended to capture the bright shape of his Captain's hand as he was about to be pushed away. He might not have recognized it if he hadn't seen a corner of the familiar office in the background, between the thumb and pointer finger that the picture starred._

_The second photo had been the more successful of the two. Chris had a lean but strong arm (he'd been more of a shrimp in those days) slung around his Captain's neck with a happy and boozed grin across his young face. Chris was shocked to see just how young he was. The familiar scowl of his Captain, however, was as haunting as it was comforting. His usual shades were off, revealing blue, albeit irritated eyes. Human eyes._

_After that, Chris remembered his camera being taken from him, so he would stop chasing after his Captain for more pictures, if only to be a nuisance. But then, the consequences of annoying Wesker weren't so harsh during those days._

_Chris had remembered those pictures because he'd taken them. But the next two were entirely unfamiliar, though the scene itself wasn't. He just hadn't realized that his Captain had, or would have, taken advantage of his drunken antics. If the pictures were any testament to it, Chris was far too bold for his own good after a few beers. When the countdown was over, he'd been invited (of all things), back to his Captain's apartment. And he accepted immediately because he was both drunk and promised something more than cheap alcohol. Chris had expected wine, whiskey, bourbon—but what he'd gotten was sex. Or maybe it was the opposite way around, and he'd been the one to pull the rug under his Captain. He figured not, if the man had still been sober enough to take pictures of Chris stretched across his bed, grinning and looking like an idiot in his attempt to seem the opposite. Chris assumed his boyish charm had won his host over anyways, considering that, though he didn't remember his Captain sneaking a few pictures(with his own camera, no less), he did remember a heavy body between his naked thighs, pressing him into the mattress, and deep kisses, and then the sudden end to it all._

_Chris shivered and leaned back in the chair, pushing a hand through his unruly hair. To have all these memories surface now, when they didn't matter…if they ever did. And why would have Wesker kept them?_

_"Chris, did you get-"_

_"Damn it, Josh, I'm working on it," Chris barked, reaching up to silence his end of communications. Chris felt guilty after his partner didn't respond, probably as confused as he was. "I can't believe I still care about any of this bullshit," Chris mumbled aloud, without fear of being heard this time. He hadn't expected to be answered._

"_Because you're persistent."_

_Chris jerked upright, and looked around the room, unsure if he'd heard the voice in his head or not. He shone his flashlight around, but even before the beam landed in the far left corner where a closed door had been, now open, he saw those eyes, two burning coals narrowed in the thick shadow. His beam never reached the corner, because the moment it dawned on him that he really wasn't alone, the flashlight was knocked out of his hand with such a strength that the heavy-duty casing cracked and the bulb busted, leaving Chris with the man, the thing, in total darkness._

_Fear gripped him suddenly, but he was trained to respond in the presence of fear, and so he did, fumbling quickly for the pistol that rested, loaded, on the desk. He remembered exactly where he'd laid it, but couldn't feel it out. _

_Suddenly, a body was thrown against him, and his back was crushed against a wall, something cool pressed hard against the underside of his jaw, hurting.  
_

"_Looking for this?" The words were crisp and measured, falling on Chris like a leaden weight. He'd forgotten how fucking fast that man was. Is._

_There was a struggle as Chris reached up and grabbed the front of his captor's face, pushing it roughly back and attempting to bring a knee up between them, hard and into his opponent's gut, but a blow to his head snapped it to the side and sent him tumbling to the floor, dazed. He barely managed to push himself up on his elbow when a boot heel shoved him back down, knocking the wind out of his chest as he collided with the floor hard, even at such a short distance. He choked and shuddered, trying vainly to draw in a vital breath while the monster behind him was likely preparing for the final blow. _

_Chris felt what he thought was a knee against one side of his ribs, a boot by the other, as he lie face down. Before he had his breath back enough to let out the enraged sound that was boiling up into his throat, a hand crept into his hair and jerked painfully, canting Chris's head back and to the side, agony shooting through the muscles and nerves in his neck. So occupied with the pain, Chris barely noticed when a face pressed to the exposed length of his neck. A few quiet moments more, and he felt the little puffs of breath against his skin, then one deep, long inhale._

_Then he felt him pull back and release his head with a thud as he lie there, willing the pain in his neck and chest away (had he broken a few ribs?), before cool metal dug into his left shoulder blade, where his heart beat violently._

_"You nearly killed me, Chris," he heard the man drone. "Nearly. I think it's only fair that I return the favor."_

_It was one of the things he hated about Wesker: he always wanted to get a rise out of him, always talking. Chris wished he'd just shut up and do whatever it was he wanted to do. _

_And it would be one of the few times Chris would have that wish granted._

_Before he could even formulate a reply, the gun sounded, sending a bullet deep into his chest, shattering bone and flesh, leaving a black ring of burnt skin around the bullet hole that smelled like sulfur and cooked meat. It seemed so small a noise for what had happened, the echoes which Chris clung to dying too quickly in the confines of the room. He felt himself fading with them, and thought he might have been offered salvation by Josh's good timing and marksmanship when another gunshot echoed. A quick little 'pop' that preceded another blossom of pain in his chest. _

'_He shot me…twice, that bastard. How could he shoot me twice?'_

_The last thing Chris remembered was his own warm blood pooling against his cheek pressed to the floor, the odd sensation of his failing pulse, and hands rubbing into the muscles of his back, as if someone had come to soothe him into his death._

_His dreams had begun hazy, like any dreams. In and out of old memories, even things that never happened. Pieces of thoughts, feelings, wound together to form a story from whatever resources he had to pillage. He found nothing strange about it, and was unaware that he was dreaming._

_Then a significant change happened. There was abruptly a loud drum that steadily guided his thoughts. He followed the sound, finding the inner contours of his skull._

'_I'm dreaming,' Chris thought. 'This is all happening in my head.'_

_Now, the images and feelings that came to him he knew were his memories. He watched his life flash by him like a film set to forward, all the while that drum steadily beating. The seductive, deep thrumming that lulled him into a constant state of calm. It was the most perfect, beautiful noise he'd ever remembered hearing, and he prayed it would never stop._

_He could have stayed that way, listening and watching in perfect contentment, completely objectified and unmoved. He wondered idly if it was death, until a bitter smell filled his nose, suddenly present as if he'd simply been ignoring it until now. _

_Chris wrinkled his nose, the sensation of the muscles moving in his face drawing him into consciousness. And that bitter, strange smell. His thoughts whirled about, film vanishing the moment his eyes opened, darting about and looking for purchase in darkness. For a while, there was nothing beyond the black, but gradually, he could make out sharp edges, corners. He could even feel the stiff surface of support under his back, though his calves were hanging freely, the edge of whatever he lie on ending behind his knees._

_And then he drew in his first conscious breath, deep and satisfying, even in the stale air. With every second, small pangs of what he could only describe as excitement fired through him, lighting his nerves, waking them up as if from a deep sleep, and he tingled all over from it. He moved his fingers, urging blood into his extremities._

_And all at once, he remembered that he had been shot in the heart, twice. He recognized the room; he could sill make out his shattered flashlight in the far corner. Instantly, he bolted upright, but a firm hand to his chest stopped him, and Chris instinctively grabbed at the wrist, trying to remove it. A loud roar filled the room briefly as Chris screamed then had a hand slapped over his mouth which was held in place until the sound died and Chris was panting out of his nose, shivering. Unable to dislodge either hand, Chris could only lie there, breathing, and inadvertently collecting his thoughts, steeling himself for what was to come._

_At least he would have, if he wasn't suddenly taken with the room around him. It was indeed the same room he'd died in—well, he thought he had died—but it seemed lighter by a small margin. He remembered being unable to see before, and he thought he still shouldn't have been able to. But then there were the smells he'd somehow overlooked. The tinge of blood and rust and still water—and then something distinctly bitter-sweet. Chris licked his lips in a subconscious effort to taste it. And he did, just slightly. It delighted him to a point that once the delight lifted, he was left both mesmerized and horrified._

_A small sound of anguish passed his lips, and the hand on his chest must have felt him tense, because it replied in kind, keeping a firm weight on him._

_"Just wait," he heard someone order, and the voice was deep and curved richly, filling his ears. Goosebumps rose on his flesh, the sound alone pulling a deep, unexplained shudder from his core. He heard his company chuckle behind closed lips, and Chris jerked his head to the side to glare. But what he saw, for what seemed the first time, shocked him._

_In the dark, those watchful eyes waited, suspended and bright. But the light now seemed to share itself with the rises and contours of the face from which it came, highlighting the elegant bones and rising brow that Chris always felt made the man particularly intimidating. The lips were thin, drawn tight, but as Chris gazed openly in wonderment, a corner drew up into a smirk, bright eyes becoming hooded with satisfaction. Chris observed that one side of the face was mottled with slightly darker patches of flesh, barely visible in the smooth plains and folds of skin that Chris was familiar with.  
_

"_Beautiful, isn't it?"_

_Chris let the sound die in his ears before he understood it. And then he sneered and tried to lift himself again, surprised when he was allowed to cast the hand holding him down away._

_"Not exactly what I had in mind."_

_Wesker raised his brows, realizing that Chris had misunderstood. "I didn't mean my face, Christopher, but I do remember a time when you thought the same of that as well."  
_

_Chris ground his teeth together, but didn't let Wesker wield their past against him further. "What the fuck is going on?" Chris managed._

_Wesker wasn't inclined to answer, and watched Chris closely._

_Chris could only stare, torn between thoughtful wonderment and rage. It felt like there was an alien conscious inside of him, feeling things that didn't make sense, knowing things he wouldn't normally know by means he wouldn't normally use. His thoughts bounced around quickly, crisp little epiphanies that were quickly solved and branched into further questions, stemming out infinitely until an answer concluded the strain of thought. He felt too…aware, lost in a storm of revelation. It seemed all inconvenient with his should-be-dead rival looming over him._

_All the while, Wesker watched Chris' face conspicuously, hints of interest showing on his countenance._

_At some point, he'd shut his eyes and leaned his head back, focus drawn inwards. It was as if years had passed in his mind, despite the outside world having aged only a few minutes. He needed to reorganize and label the files in his mind, tuck away previously misplaced or even forgotten memories that had been lost to a part of his mind only recently opened for business. And some, he just found a different opinion on, as if he hadn't had the capacity before to fully grasp the deeper meaning. He was drowning in a sea of new answers to old questions, and new questions to old answers._

_He'd kept his eyes closed tight until a sensation pulled him from his possessing thoughts. The intricate foundation of his mind was shaken, reality wrapping itself seductively around him again. Of course, he should have realized instantly that there was nothing pleasant about his current situation._

_Warmth bloomed in the chill of the room against the side of his neck, and he suddenly became aware of the bitter-sweet smell again, an odor more cryptic and subtle under all the stagnant water and metal. He couldn't define it by a scent so much as a feeling—it instilled a deep comfort and curiosity in him, and while the scent was complicated in nature, he found his response to it easy. Until he realized that Wesker had been looking at him expectantly._

_"I don't recommend you try to relive your entire history in the span of a few moments—forget that for now."_

_"What's wrong with me," Chris breathed, trying to sound more annoyed than he had. More annoyed, less horrified. "You killed me. I should be..."_

_"Dead? No. I only finished what you started." Wesker's voice was matter-of-fact, professional, and detached. But as much as Chris hated to admit, he preferred it over the insane right-to-be-a-god drivel. "Though, I won't lie. It's only now that I realize just what you did start…"_

_Chris was nearly about to start up his interrogation when the warmth on his neck lifted, and a thumb rolled against the smooth skin under his jaw, uncharacteristically gentle—at least for the Wesker he knew now. It took all of his will to turn his attention back on what was being said, but Wesker noticed the interlude the tiny gesture had spurred. Chris felt suddenly angry at the man's small victory, or maybe more at himself and his newly wandering feelings and thoughts which he just couldn't seem to get a hold of._

_"Damn it, Wesker, stop bull-shitting and give it to me straight; you did something. I f-feel it. You fucking did…something."_

_"Eloquent as ever, I see," he remarked idly. And then, with genuine interest and to Chris' horror: "Your pulse would have me believe something has you quite excited. What could that be?"_

_Chris had a feeling there was something he didn't know and Wesker did. Same old game, Chris in the dark, quite literally now. It only served to fuel his anger which, frankly, he welcomed over the strange churning heat in his stomach that was making him feel anxious._

_He'd had enough. They weren't friends—that day was long ago. And they sure as hell weren't anything else. The only time he wanted to see that smug face was on the battlefield, not over idle chatter._

_"Fuck you, stop touching me. It makes me sick to think of a monster like you touching me." Pulling from a sudden well of energy, Chris dispelled the hand that had fallen to clutch his shoulder and quickly drove a fist into his captor's jaw. He was so shocked at having been able to even land a hit— and even more so at his Captor's own surprised expression—that he didn't think to follow it through with another before a hand found his neck and was virtually slinging him from the desk to the floor like little more than a rag doll._

_Chris felt the air rushing past him as he fell, and managed to half catch himself on two feet, a hand supporting his upper body as he stumbled upright and at the ready. _

_He wasn't thinking anymore. His muscles ached to move, and so he did, driving his bulk into his opponent, only to have the tables turned as Wesker took the upper hand and sent him into the wall. His shoulder hit first, sending a deep throb down his entire body. He turned quickly, shaken, but ready to defend himself._

_But Wesker only gazed at him, then after a moment, just behind him. "Impressive."_

_Chris studied the man's face, then slowly turned to search out whatever it was he'd been looking at. It wasn't hard to figure out. Behind him, just where his shoulder had connected, the cement was decorated with a web of deep cracks, a few pieces resting on the floor from impact. Had he mustered that much force? And even more, come away without a broken shoulder?  
_

_Wesker had stepped closer during his distraction, and Chris was bathed in that strange, bitter-sweet odor again. He turned quickly, realizing the source._

"_Of all the things you've ever taken it upon yourself to label me, 'monster' was always a favorite. But aren't we both monsters now, Chris? All this time you've been so eager to call names; all this time you've been so self-righteous and free of blame, when you really haven't. All this time, dormant, even to your knowledge, it's been inside you—I've been inside you. How ironic…" Wesker looked thoughtful, appreciative of whatever irony he had indeed found in his revelation._

_Chris ground his teeth together and tensed. "What are you saying? What's ironic?" He didn't understand, or maybe just couldn't believe it. Even his racing thoughts couldn't find any clues in his fresh mind. _

_Wesker moved back to the desk with methodical steps and reached into the open drawer to fetch one of the pictures Chris had found earlier, before things had gotten so complicated, and set it slowly with purpose on the desk, pushing it towards Chris and prompting him to study it again. Chris lifted it up to gaze at himself lounging expectantly on his Captain's bed, Carelessly. Careless. Chris furrowed his brow and looked over at his Captain, pale._

"_Back then, when we—you were...?"_

_Wesker's only response was a disinterested hum._

_His old captain had started to walk towards him, and it was only when he felt a hand against the side of his neck did he realize it. Long fingers traced down the cords of straining muscle there, squeezed his shoulder, and splayed against his broad chest. Chris shivered in anxiety and satisfaction, both from that alluring scent and old touch which seemed so like it had been long ago. Somewhere inside him, the man before fifteen minutes ago was screaming. But the new awareness within, so convincingly a part of himself (and he wondered at times if it was) warned him to hold still-that it would be best, that it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do._

_'Don't move,' it chided. 'Let him touch. Do you remember, like before? A coupling at the beginning, and now the end. A metamorphosis complete, come full circle. A gift from Him. His most precious achievement, shared with you. You are precious.'_

_In retrospect, it would be something to haunt him for years to come, but now? Now, he was lulled in as if the whole of his body had secretly missed the awkward but no less passionate touches, more often than not, stolen quickly in his Captain's office. It was even more lucid now, as if a fog had lifted, and Chris was finding it harder and harder to stand his ground, more difficult to remember why he would have turned away such advances no more than half an hour ago. And before he could harness any thoughts against it, a hand fell down to roll a thumb over his chest to find an already hard nipple which his snug suit did little to obscure. And Wesker exploited it entirely._

_Chris let out a little puff of air, hearing the start of a groan somewhere within. It all felt too right, and by the time a mouth clamped over his, he was asking for it. Wesker had seen him wet his lips, part them, and lean his head back in that familiar gesture, and he'd given Chris what he wanted._

_The kiss was hard, slow, and deep. Chris felt suffocated by it, and even all the more when a body pressed to the length of his, hands at the small of his back assuring that no space between them was left unfilled. A few moments passed until Chris realized something which caused him to moan in earnest, the sound swallowed up and prompting an eager push from Wesker's side._

_Chris caught the whisper of a thought, that strange voice that thought all the things he felt depraved for even considering. 'He talks down to you, treats you the same. A real asshole, but feel how hard you've made him. He wants to fuck you just like before, like you wanted to fuck him. Couldn't tell anyone else, just had to get it out of your system. Never got it out.'_

_The idea of it pleased him far too much. He must have started to reciprocate more reverently, because Wesker grunted and readjusted their mouths to occupy new depths. And the pressure below—Chris wanted to satisfy it. Nothing else mattered. And he feared he might have if he hadn't been suddenly shoved back. Chris had even been reaching out for his ex-Captain to drag him back when he started talking, snapping him out of his hunger._

_The only touch between them now was a hand to Chris' jaw, as if even Wesker was hesitant to relinquish all contact._

_"All this time, I've let you play the hero, adhere to your ideals. And you've played the part expertly. It's admirable, how adamant you are. And just as frustrating. But now, things have to change." Wesker continued his treatment to Chris' jaw, rolling his thumb with something that seemed like, or at least mimicked, actual affection. His voice was only a whisper._

_"Things have changed," Chris dared, but wasn't so sure anymore._

_"No, this world is still in a state of decay. Man is too imperfect and ignorant to possess the power he does. Someone else must stop it."_

_"What, and *you* think you can save the world? You've done a hell of a job destroying some of it, so why not." Chris looked angry now, turning his head away from the touch, but he wasn't let far._

_"Chris," Wesker hissed with conviction. "Why can't you understand there must be sacrifices? What must be done isn't always what everyone wants to be done. If I have to play the villain to save this wretched place, I will. The end will justify the means, and be well worth it." Wesker, satisfied for the time being with Chris' contempt, continued. "But I'm dead to the world now. Change is going to take on a new face, and they will hate you for it like they hated me. Soon, you'll understand. It's time you take on a new perspective, now that you've the capacity for it."_

_Chris stiffened, confused. "Me? What do you mean?" Wesker only stepped back towards the desk to return the old pictures to their envelope and tuck it back in the drawer after a brief glance at them, as if he were seeing them for the last time. "Wesker! Answer me, damn it."_

_"Jill," Chris heard him say, and he stopped halfway towards the man. "She was easy enough to turn. Why wouldn't you be? Especially since we have so much in common now. Maybe you defected of your own accord, who knows. It won't take much to scare them into wanting you dead or splayed open over a lab table—god knows they wanted a look at me, but I never shared my secrets, not even with my colleagues. To think in a moment of passion, I inadvertently gave everything to you… I guess it has to be this way now."_

_Wesker looked over his shoulder thoughtfully. "Once my part in this is done, humanity reborn, my little labor of love, will be left to you. It's annoying to think that in the end, you'll probably be the face in all the history books. Ah, well…"_

_And then Wesker turned his back to leave, despite Chris' confused protests._

_Later, Chris would make his way out of the office and back towards the core labs, alone, his teammates missing. _

_He shouldn't have been surprised—Wesker wouldn't have left witnesses. He knew they were probably dead, but it was just that he hadn't thought of it before. He'd messed up real bad, didn't warn them. He could have done more... And to top it all off, he'd failed to find any significant information. The computer had been stripped of its memory, and the files were old news._

_What would Headquarters say?_

Doctor Owens practically fell off her chair when the General shoved her aside and leant down towards the receiver, face red and brows pinched tight.

"General, don't—" But it was too late. Everyone had lost their patience, and even she was beginning to doubt the man's innocence.

"If you refuse to answer our questions, your stay here will only be longer. Tell us where the core labs are. Tell us where he kept Lepidoptera!"

Chris lurched wearily in his chair, barely able to glean an inch before the cuffs bit in. "I don't know," he repeated. The sound of the answer he'd heard himself say so many times was maddening. Why wouldn't they just listen? "I don't KNOW!"

The General slammed a fist against the desk and barked back, "The man's dead! why protect him now? You know where it is; you destroyed the files and killed your teammates to protect it! How long have you been concealing information? And if you're not going to tell us, you're as good as dead. Do you understand? Hell, you were as good as dead the moment you gave up your humanity. Can't let a monster back out on the streets, now, can we?"

Chris suddenly lunged forward, the bolted chair groaning in protest as the back legs pulled away from the floor, thick screws bent and loosed by the force. He grit his teeth and opened his eyes, staring hard into the mirror in front of him, behind which he knew people watched: the select few who would decide his life, or so they thought. He knew they were all beside themselves; he couldn't hear any noise coming from the other side.

"I didn't choose this."

Chris had to wonder, for all their differences, how much he looked like him now, eyes angry and full of molten fire-monstrous. Furious because no one would listen, understand. Believe. As Chris stared into the wide breadth of the mirror, he didn't see himself at all.

He saw change.


End file.
